


Too Many Cooks

by Measured



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Bad Cooking, Cooking, F/M, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 09:06:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3351059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Measured/pseuds/Measured
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A week or so of burnt out kitchens, Borcht, crocodile and horrible dress choices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Many Cooks

**Author's Note:**

> pinch hit for Bicolouredhydra. Request 1)The mercs all have to cook for the rest on a rotational basis. I'd like to see how each of them stack up in the kitchen. Sharpies date back to 1964, and Dry-Erase boards, called "Plasti-slates" date back to between the late fifties to early sixties. I have no personal opinion on New Mexico baseball teams, but Scout is a baseball snob.
> 
> en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sharpie_%28marker%29  
> en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Whiteboard
> 
> Betaed by Multiversecafe. Also contains minor hints of Heavy/Medic and Scout/Miss Pauling.

Monday.

Soldier put up the list and made sure it had fifty stars and too many red and white sharpies all over the Plasti-slate. So much that no one could read who was assigned for each day. Especially not with all the raccoon tracks all over it, making the writing even more illegible. 

Pyro didn't see either, but that didn't stop them from burning down the kitchen, leaving everyone nothing but plates of charcoal and piles of ash covered in glitter and star stickers.

*

Tuesday.

 

"Fall in, Men! We'll make the BLUs on the run, and take their beer for our own!"

A cheer rose up, up until they realized that BLU wasn't there at all. A note was left on the table in neat handwriting detailing the baseball game they were going to, with a note to the BLU Engineer to feed the birds when he was done in his work room. 

"Gone to see the The Albuquerque Isotopes? Maan, and I thought all these BLUs had bad taste, but I can't believe they'd be that desperate for some baseball," Scout said. He kicked a can, which hit the wall and ricocheted back.

Soldier, however, had already started to invade the kitchen. It resembled what the former RED kitchen had been, in that it was filthy and riddled with extra ventilation via many bullet holes. The cupboards that hadn't been blown off were filled with only Spam and expired pork and beans.

"Spam, really?" Scout said. He made gagging notions.

"This is the food that belongs in trenches. It should be eaten cold, and the tops should be made into weapons---are you rolling your eyes at me, _private?_ Drop and give me twenty!"

All it took was Soldier to bring out his Disciplinary Action for Scout to drop to the ground and start doing push ups.

*

Wednesday.

Miss Pauling was used to zoos sending out messages about a hairy Australian man forcing his way in to fight the animals. She'd had to bail him out so many times over Zoo-related incidents that she didn't even ask most times.

What she wasn't used to was hearing about a man who seemed too thin and hairless to be Australian, yet had an Australian accent was seen in the crocodile pen linked to the mysterious crocodile disappearance.

She let out a sigh and started a to-do list on who she'd have to kill to keep them out of jail this time.

*

Thursday.

Engineer had dissuaded Pyro from burning down the dining room, and most of the bullet holes and burn marks had even been filled in. It looked so fancy, it was almost as if Miss Pauling were coming down for an inspection. Scout had slicked back his hair and kept a watchful eye to the door, just in case.

Somehow, Heavy had made a meal in their burned-out wasteland of a kitchen, and even more surprising, he'd managed to keep Scout out of the cookies.

Dinner was usually a boisterous affair, sometimes breaking off into fights. More than once beer bottles had been broken and used as weapons in another fight. Sports was a common theme, as was the true definition of 'football.'

But today, all those differences were put aside. Even Soldier's fervent patriotism was silenced by the taste of a single spoonful of Borscht. 

"This was truly a magnificent meal. Would you be willing to share the recipe?" Medic said.

"It is a recipe passed down through generations, only given to those who are married into the family." Heavy said.

"Understandable," Medic said.

"But, for you, I will tell," Heavy said. 

He leaned down to whisper in Medic's ear.

"Really? I never would have guessed," Medic said.

"Hey, send me some as well, I'll tell my ma!" Scout said.

"No," Heavy said.

"Aww, come on, don't leave me hangin'," Scout said.

"There is enough for seconds. Maybe even enough to keep him full," Heavy said.

"Yo, that's a compliment. I sure as hell didn't come back for seconds for whatever the weird chicken Sniper fed us last night was," Scout said.

"Next time I'm feedin' you cobra, you ungrateful drongo," Sniper said.

Friday.

"Haggis? More like _Hag-ass_ , I'd rather eat the frickin' charred glitter with a top of stickers!"

Demoman narrowed his eyes, then nudged Soldier.

"Yae hold him down, I'll shove it in his mouth," Demoman said.

"I will help," Heavy said.

Scout let out a yelp and was out the door before they'd even taken two steps.

 

Saturday.

Demoman let out a loud belch, and considered the large mug. "Yae call it Octoberfest, and it's basically one big liquid lunch?"

"Yes," Medic said with a grin, "But you'll all have to wear the special Liederhosen to celebrate it."

Demoman shrugged. Last Halloween, he'd become honorary king of the unicorns. Dancing in German shorts was nothing compared to that.

Sunday.

"Come on, Spy! We know you're holding out on us! We're hungry!"

Scout banged on the door, but Spy had reinforced it with enough steel to withstand even Heavy. True, it diminished the elegance he'd worked so hard for, but it was better than Pyro slipping in and burning down all his possessions. 

"Go away," Spy said.

"Now, where were we?" Spy said.

"Sweetie, I left a cooler at the front. Now go watch your baseball game," she said.

" _Ma_?!"

"He'll never go away now," Spy said.

"He always was my littlest cockblock," she said.

Monday.

Engineer put another hot dog on the grill.

"Now, Pyro. I don't need that to be charcoal. Go play with Scout," he said.

"Hudda!" Pyro said.

"Finally, something edible," Scout said. He only got a few seconds of relaxation out on the deck chairs before Pyro tried to share some sparkles with him. Unfortunately for him, Pyro's glitter was always on fire.

Engineer took a long sip of beer, and smiled as Scout let out a shriek and went off running.

Tuesday.  
"You're all multi-billionaires. Put together, you could all buy most of Europe. I don't see why you just didn't go out to eat," Miss Pauling said.

Slowly it dawned on all of them, save for Spy, who merely shook his head at his teammates. 

"So, uh, Miss Pauling---" Scout began. He pulled at his shirt collar. "You, ah, got any recommendations?"

"Of places to go?" She pushed up her glasses. "Chicken Inquisition is pretty good."

"Oh, you like that too? We both like buckets of chicken? That's great. Real great? By the way, you hungry for chicken?" 

"We're _all_ hungry for chicken, right Miss Pauling?" Soldier threw his arm around Scout's shoulders, tight enough to keep him from speaking up and ruining the moment.

"Actually, I missed lunch," she said.

Behind them, several men exchanged money as bets were won and lost.


End file.
